The Second Hundred
by alynwa
Summary: Stories based on the second list of 100 prompts posted on LJ. The chapter name will also name the story's prompt.
1. Little Red Corvette - Car

"I'll drive."

"Really? And why would that be, Napoleon?"

"I feel like driving."

"I see. And would this 'feeling' have anything to do with the fact that we are on an assignment that demands we drive a flashy red Corvette Stingray up and down Collins Avenue in Miami Beach past scores of bikini – clad women?"

"I _do _look good behind the wheel."

"As do I. We are supposed to be attracting the attention of the local drug cartel, not attempting to pick up women."

"We're supposed to be rich playboys; picking up women is part of our cover."

"Of course."


	2. Escape: It's What's for Breakfast

"You know what I'm missing right about now, Partner Mine?"

Illya was hanging by his wrists from a pipe behind Napoleon who was also similarly bound. He had been trying to figure a way out of their predicament when the brunet's voice came over his shoulder. He turned his head as far as he could to see that they were back to back. "I must admit, I do not know what you are missing. _I _am missing the feeling of blood circulating in my arms."

Chuckling softly, Napoleon opined, "You do get a little churlish sometimes. It probably isn't helping that we've been here since about two AM and by the way my stomach feels, you're missing breakfast as much as I am."

"I was not thinking about breakfast, but thank you for mentioning it," the Russian growled, "I think I see a way to disentangle ourselves. Make yourself useful and yell. Let's see if anyone responds."

"Fine." The two men began to holler and scream for help as loudly as they could. After about twenty seconds, they stopped to see if anyone, foe or friend, would come. "I don't hear anything," Napoleon whispered.

"Good," Illya replied, "On my mark, start yelling again so I can kick apart where these two pipes are joined together. If I am successful, we can make our escape." He swung his legs up to the pipe from which they hung. "Ready? One, two, _three!_"

Napoleon began to shout once more while the Russian began to kick viciously at the pipe joint. He felt a jolt of energy when on the third kick, the pipes began to separate. "Keep it up, Napoleon! I am almost there!" Five kicks later, the pipes gave way causing both men to slide down to the floor with the heavier American landing roughly on his partner.

"Get off me, you big ox!" Illya snarled as he quickly regained his feet and brought his bound hands to his mouth as fast as his aching shoulders would allow. Napoleon mirrored his actions and the two grabbed at the ropes with their teeth and began yanking the knots apart, a relatively easy task now that there was no longer any strain on the ropes or their bodies.

They ran quietly to the door and used Illya's lock pick to open it. Seeing no one in the hallway beyond, they hustled down to a door marked "Exit." It opened onto another hallway at the end of which was a windowed door that appeared to open onto the street. Moving stealthily, they got to the door and Napoleon peeked outside.

"It's an alleyway; we can go left or right. What do you think?" the CEA asked.

Illya shrugged. "We have a fifty – fifty chance. I say I go left, you go right and we see whose way looks better unless you have a better idea."

"I don't. Let's do it." The larger man snatched the door open and Illya darted out under his arm and hugging the wall, ran to the end of the building. He noted several things: He was still in Manhattan, it was early morning and he was facing the rear of the building they had escaped. He turned around to call Napoleon and saw him running his way.

"Three guys just got out of a car and entered the building. They're going to be looking for us in about two minutes. Let's get away from here!"

They began to run in the general direction of headquarters. As they neared the corner of Forty – second Street and Ninth Avenue, Napoleon spotted two cops sitting in their patrol car. Walking up to the passenger side, he flashed his UNCLE ID and said, "Gentlemen, we are in need of your assistance. May we get in?"

The officer unlocked the back door and Napoleon slid in quickly followed by his partner. "Good morning. I'm Napoleon Solo and this is my partner, Illya Kuryakin. Would you be so kind as to take us over to the East Side?"

The cop behind the wheel protested, "Whadda we? We look like a cab to you?"

"Murphy," the officer in the passenger seat said, "Just do it! These are UNCLE agents! Seeing one is about as rare as hen's teeth and we got _two _in the car? Wait'll the guys back at the precinct hear about _this!"_

They asked to be let out at Forty – second and York and as they walked the few blocks downtown to HQ, Napoleon mused aloud, "Scrambled eggs, French toast with a side of really crisp, well done bacon, orange juice and coffee. Or maybe, a cheddar cheese omelet with hash browns…"

"What are you _doing?_"

"I'm trying to decide what to have for breakfast. I told you before I was hungry. As soon as we get to Headquarters, I'm getting breakfast."

"For the both of us, _moy droog. _That is the least you can do for tormenting me with your talk of food."

"You should be buying _me _breakfast! Didn't I enlist the aid of New York's Finest to help us escape our captors?"

"We would not have _had _captors if not for you!"

"Point taken. All right. My treat."


	3. Partnership - Partner

It was a weekend conference for international and national law enforcement agencies held in Washington, DC. Representatives of Interpol, Scotland Yard, the FBI, the CIA, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and West Germany's Federal Investigation Bureau were in attendance. UNCLE, in the form of Mr. Waverly, had been invited to speak about the growing threat THRUSH represented to their respective governments and under what circumstances it was appropriate to contact the UNCLE for assistance.

Napoleon Solo had accompanied Mr. Waverly to the conference so he could experience one of the duties a Number One, Section One was called upon occasionally to perform. When the Old Man had first told him about the conference and what he expected him to do, Napoleon had joked that he was obviously the "dutiful spouse."

He smiled to himself as he poured a cup of coffee. It was the last day of the conference and all the formal meetings were over; people had attended a luncheon after which they would begin heading home. _He told me he wanted me to accompany him to all his meetings, schmooze with all the other agency heads and answer questions about UNCLE that someone might have. _I _thought it was funny. I don't even have to act as a bodyguard, his detail is with us._

"Mr. Solo! Hi, join us!"

Napoleon looked around to see Harry Thirdgill, an FBI agent, seated at a table with three other men. He approached them and sat in the last unoccupied chair. "Gentlemen, good afternoon. I trust you found the conference informative?"

"Absolutely," Harry replied, "These bums here are my coworkers Phil Cox, John Stevens and Aaron Jakes."

Napoleon shook the agents' hands. "Nice to meet you. Please, call me Napoleon."

Aaron spoke up, "I have a question about something your boss said yesterday. He mentioned that UNCLE has started to permanently partner agents and so far, has found it to be successful. I want to know if you have a partner and if yes, do you consider it a successful pairing?"

The CEA blew on his steaming hot drink and then took a few careful sips as he thought about how best to answer. "I had been a successful UNCLE agent for two years when Mr. Waverly called me into his office one day to tell me that Section One had decided to start pairing agents up to decrease the number of death in the field and hopefully, increase the overall mission success rate. I remember part of what he said verbatim. 'Mr. Solo, as Chief Enforcement Agent of UNCLE North America, you must lead by example. Not only will you be assigned a partner, your partner will be UNCLE's first Russian agent, Mr. Illya Kuryakin, on loan from the KGB."

Harry whistled. "Whoa, a Russkie? And, _KGB _to boot? That sucks. I would have argued."

"No, you wouldn't have; one doesn't argue with Alexander Waverly. That being said, I ah _will _say that I did mention that my success rate was quite good and teaming me with someone really wasn't going to improve it much. Let's just say, he wasn't impressed with my reasoning on the subject."

Stevens leaned forward and asked, "So, what did he look like? I'm guessing a heavyset tall guy with black hair, heavy moustache, no sense of humor?"

Napoleon laughed aloud. "Not even close! His secretary announced on his intercom that Mr. Kuryakin had arrived and she was told to let him enter. I looked up and this skinny, short, blond longhaired guy walks in wearing an off the rack suit that looks like he borrowed it from his older brother. I couldn't believe he was my partner. That was five years ago."

Aaron finally joined in the conversation. "So, has it been a good partnership?"

"Honestly, in the beginning, I wasn't sure we would work out. But, I liked the guy. Three months after we were teamed, he came down with the flu and I brought him chicken soup.* He had been a little standoffish before that, but I guess once someone gives you a sponge bath and makes you chicken soup, it breaks down walls. He's my partner; I can't even imagine going into the field without him, now. Maybe you guys should suggest it to J. Edgar; he might go for it."

Stevens checked his watch. "Speaking of J. Edgar, we better get going. He's expecting us back before five. Nice meeting you, Napoleon. See you around." The FBI agents all stood and left the room.

Napoleon pulled out his communicator and said, "Open Channel K. Illya?"

"Hello, Napoleon. Are you bored? I did not expect to hear from you until you returned tonight."

"No, I'm not bored. I was thinking of you and I wanted to tell you: You are a good partner. You always have been."

"You do not have to flatter me, Napoleon. I have done all your paperwork you left."

"Thanks, but I'm serious. Let me treat you to Svetlana's for dinner tomorrow night."

There was nothing but silence for a few seconds before the Russian responded, "I do not know what has gotten into you, but I will not refuse a free meal. I will be home by the time you return to New York. I will see you tomorrow. Bring lots of cash; I think I will be very hungry."

Napoleon laughed, "I'm sure you will be! See you later."

*ref. "Chicken Soup for the Russian"


	4. A Light in the Dark - Candle

"Napoleon, what is that smell?" Illya asked as soon as the pneumatic door to their office opened and he entered.

"That, Partner Mine, is the latest craze; scented candles. Sylvia gave it to me. It's lavender."

"It's disgusting and it cannot possible be a good idea to burn a candle in a windowless room. Please put it out before it starts to affect my sinuses."

Napoleon sighed and leaned forward in his chair. "Alright, but you are such a spoil…" Before he could finish his sentence, the lights went out. The glow of the candle showed the surprise on both their faces.

The CEA pulled his communicator immediately. "Open Channel D, Priority One. Mr. Waverly, are you all right, Sir?"

"Quite, Mr. Solo. It would appear the entire City has sustained a blackout. Our generators should be starting momentarily. Are you still in Headquarters?"

"Affirmative, Sir. Illya and I are in our office. What would you have us do?"

"Nothing at the moment. Section III is securing our perimeters as we speak and starting up the generators. Stay put for now." A _click _signaled him that his superior has ended the conversation.

"Well," he opined as he relaxed back into his chair, "there's nothing to do except wait. Funny thing; I don't have a flashlight in my desk. Do you?"

The Russian shrugged his shoulders. "I do not have a torch, either."

"Oh, so my candle is coming in handy now, isn't it?"

"If I did not know better, I would think you planned this entire thing to keep your candle lit."

Napoleon laughed at that. "You think I would blackout the entire City for a candle? I am nowhere near that Machiavellian. However, remind me to mention to Lisa that she should requisition enough flashlights for every office in HQ."

Illya snorted, "That will make Accounting squawk!"

"I think they won't, after all, they're in the dark, too."

Just then, the lights came on and the two men went to Mr. Waverly's office. When they arrived there, they could see from his window that there were no lights as far as they could see except for the light of the full moon.

"I've been getting reports the entire Eastern seaboard is without power," Mr. Waverly said. "My sources are indicating this not any sort of attack, but rather a failure of the grid. Mr. Solo, please inform every Section II in the building that I want them to remain here tonight."

"Yes, Sir. Come on, Illya."

As the two men headed back into the hallway Napoleon instructed, "You go find us a room; there are enough teams here that we're going to have to double up. I'm heading back to the office to apprise the teams of the Old Man's wishes."

Just before they split up Illya said, "Napoleon?"

"Yeah?"

"Bring the candle."


	5. Time to Eat - Formula

Napoleon had finished all of his paperwork or rather, he had finished all the paperwork he was going to do. He dumped a pile on Illya's desk and checked his watch. _Hmmm, almost two. I wonder if he's gone to lunch, yet._ He stood, put on his suit jacket and then headed out for the labs.

Illya was engrossed in what he was doing. His lab coat was stained and buttoned incorrectly, but all he was doing was checking different slides with his microscope and then writing notes. He didn't even hear the door open. He jumped when his partner's voice sounded from behind him.

"Hey!"

He reached for his gun, forgetting completely that it hung in its holster from the coat rack along with his suit jacket. "Napoleon," he huffed in exasperation, "you are not going to be happy until I have hurt you."

"It would be an accident."

"That is what I would tell people, yes." The Russian moved back toward his work table. "To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company?"

"I came to see if you had eaten lunch and if not, I want you to have lunch with me."

Illya's head snapped up to look at the wall clock. "Well, that does explain why my stomach has been growling."

Napoleon stepped closer to look at the notebook on the tabletop. "What has you so immersed in work that you haven't stopped to eat?"

"THRUSH has managed to come up with an antidote for the truth serum I developed.* I have been working on a new formula that I will call Veritol Twenty. I believe I have gone as far as I can; now we can start clinical trials. I think they will prove successful." He began to unbutton his lab coat. "Let us go out to eat. You _are_ treating me, are you not?"

"I wasn't planning on it."

Illya slipped on his shoulder holster and then his jacket. "I was not planning on lending you forty dollars the other day so you could take Marian to the movies, either, but I did. Perhaps I should work on a formula that will make you more prudent with your money."

"Point taken, Partner. Let's to get lunch; my treat."

"Spacibo."

*Veritol 19; it was mentioned in several stories, including "Aftermath."


	6. Your Communicator or Mine - Communicator

Illya and April hadn't seen each other in weeks. They kept missing each other as he and Napoleon had affairs that took them to the mid – West, then south to Atlanta followed by a conference in UNCLE's Barcelona Headquarters while she and Mark had been in Argentina, Colombia and Belize. Neither would have admitted it under torture, but they missed each other's company.

April and Mark were walking down the hall toward the elevator bank after being debriefed by Napoleon when one of the elevators opened to reveal the Russian carrying two cups of coffee. "Illya, Darling! How are you?" April exclaimed with a smile on her face.

"There is a familiar face I have not seen in a while. I am fine, April, how are you?" He stepped off the elevator and looked at Mark. "And how are you, Mark?"

April was saying "Fine" at the same time Mark was extending his hand and replying "'Ello, Illya." He was still a little leery of Illya since their conversation in the cafeteria a couple of months earlier.* He had seen a side of the Russian that he hoped to never have pointed in his direction again.

Illya smiled shyly and said, "April, can I interest you in dinner tonight?"

"I would be more than interested, Darling. I'll meet you in Reception at seven; Mark and I have to write up our mission reports."

As the two moved past Illya into the elevator, he bowed his head slightly and replied, "Seven, it is."

Hours later, April and Illya finally came up for air in her bedroom. Dinner had gone off as planned, but they both knew what they wanted for dessert and wasted no time downing their appetizers and entrees. They were wrapped in each other's arms catching their breath when the familiar _chirp chirp chirp _of a communicator reached their ears.

"Oh, no," April moaned.

"What is wrong?"

"We got out of our clothes so fast, Darling, both of our communicators fell onto the floor and I don't know whose is whose. Do you?"

"No, that is a replacement. Again. Does it matter?"

"Of course it does, Darling! What if Mr. Waverly is calling _me_ and you answer? It's two in the morning!"

"So?"

"So? _So? _I don't want Mr. Waverly to know we're having sex!"

"Number one, he probably already knows and number two, we are consenting adults. Are you ashamed of what we are doing?"

"Not at all, Illya Darling; never."

The Russian smiled enigmatically, "Then choose a communicator and answer it."

Her hand hovered over first one and then, the other. Choosing the one on the left, she assembled it quickly and said, "Dancer."

A laugh came through the device. "Agent Dancer, may I ask why you are answering my partner's communicator at two fifteen in the morning?"

Illya reached over and plucked his communicator from April's hand. "Stop it, you blockhead, you are embarrassing her. What do you want?"

"Sorry to interrupt, Tovarisch, but the Old Man just told me that we have an affair in Alaska. We're booked on a ten AM flight to Seattle tomorrow morning. Come prepared to leave."

"Will do, Napoleon."

"Excellent. Good night to you and April."

Illya disassembled his communicator and placed in on the nightstand on his side of the bed. "I cannot stay. Let us make the most of the time we have left," he said as he pulled her close.

"Until next time, Darling," she said right before her mouth covered his.

*ref. "Personally Speaking"


	7. Watching

Napoleon looked around the little coffee shop as he entered and took a seat near an open window overlooking the street below. The second story café in Madrid was to be the rendezvous point for a man selling Spanish government state secrets and himself, or at least, who he was representing himself to be. Ostensibly, he was Etienne Chabert, a French expatriate who was a free – lance agent, making deals and buying and selling any government's secrets to the highest bidder.

UNCLE had been approached by Spain when the government discovered they were hemorrhaging sensitive documents that were appearing in places they shouldn't have. The closest thing Spain had to an intelligence agency was the National Countersubversive Organization created in response to the many student revolts and riots happening all over the country in the 60s and it simply wasn't equipped to handle espionage.

Napoleon had transformed himself into Chabert and with a glance at his reflection, he smiled to himself again. _If Illya hadn't been there when I put on this disguise, I doubt even he would know it was me. _His normally chocolate brown eyes were hidden behind green contacts and expertly applied makeup had added wrinkles and years to his face. Streaks of gray shot through his hair and his clothing, though neat and clean, was a little frayed around the edges. He had affected a passable French accent and had struck up a conversation some weeks ago with the man he was currently awaiting.

He had spent quite a bit of time spreading money around as many "bucket of blood" type bars as he could letting it be known that he was in the market for information that certain "clients" of his would be interested in obtaining. Heriberto Ortega y Rodriguez had discreetly approached him and inquired what he was interested in specifically. When Napoleon replied anything related to Spain's military strength, he was told that was not a problem; just give him a week and he would meet him with the requested paperwork.

It was full dark outside as he leaned out the window slightly when he saw the squat, moustached bulk of the man he knew as Rodriguez heading his way. The man disappeared into the doorway and reappeared a few seconds later ten feet away. He walked over and pulled out the chair opposite Napoleon and plopped his body into it. Wiping his brow he said. "Buenos dias, Senor Chabert. Do you have my money?"

Napoleon smiled back. "That all depends, Monsieur, on whether or not you have what I want."

Rodriguez reached into his inner jacket pocket and withdrew a thick envelope. "This contains the locations of all of Spain's armories including the ones that contain their latest weaponry. Additionally, Spain has four secret military installations; their locations are also listed."

"And how am I supposed to believe this is accurate information? I don't mean to offend, but you do not look like a high – level government employee to me."

"I'm not," Rodriguez laughed, "but I have a niece who is and likes nicer things than she can afford on her salary, so she helps me out when I need it." The smile left his face so fast, it was easy to forget it was ever there. "Where is my money?"

Napoleon reached down to pick up a briefcase at his feet. "As promised," he said as he slid the case over. "It's unlocked, so you can crack it to see for yourself," he added helpfully.

"Yes, it appears to all be here. Too bad."

"And why is that?"

"I got a better offer," Rodriguez said as he pulled a Luger and pointed it at Napoleon's face.

"Ah, don't you think you're being just a bit obvious? The other patrons can see us."

Rodriguez smirked, "Trust me, the other patrons don't care. No one will call the police and no one will interfere. Your body will be taken out with the trash and dumped a respectable distance from here." He would have said more, but he suddenly slumped forward, a sleep dart protruding from his neck. Napoleon calmly removed it, placed it in the briefcase, and snapped it shut, patted his pocket where he placed the envelope, threw some money on the table and went downstairs and out onto the street. Walking briskly, he crossed the street just as a car came around the corner.

"Get in!"

He opened the door, tossed the case into the back seat and sat in the passenger seat as Illya gunned the car away from the curb, barely allowing him to close the door. "Thanks for the backup, Partner Mine. Where were you?"

"I was watching from the roof across the street. The Old Man wants to be briefed as soon as we get to UNCLE Madrid, so I suggest you start removing that ridiculous disguise now. A cleanup team from there will collect Mr. Rodriguez and deliver him to the proper authorities to face justice."

He began to remove the prosthetic wrinkles from his face and tossing the pieces out the window. "I'm sure it won't be too difficult to identify his contact on the inside as it's his niece." He watched as Illya got onto the highway. "Thanks for watching out for me."

"That is what a partner is for, Napoleon."


	8. What's Love Got to Do With It? - Love

Illya rapped out his coded knock on Napoleon's door. It was mid – Sunday morning and the Russian came bearing the Sunday New York Times plus a shopping bag full of croissants, bagels, jams, cream cheese, smoked salmon and other brunch goodies. This had been the first weekend in a while that neither one had to work. Illya had spent his Saturday night at the Village Vanguard watching Thelonious Monk play. It had been glorious for him to sit in the darkened venue at a small wooden table in a corner watching and listening to the genius on the piano playing "'Round Midnight," "Straight, No Chaser" amongst his other tunes. He had walked home afterwards at two AM whistling bits and pieces of the music he had heard.

He knew Napoleon had taken Kelly, one of the newest UNCLE secretaries, out to dinner and dancing last night, but would be home by now. Napoleon never brought a date to his apartment and rarely stayed past seven in the morning. He was about to use his spare key when he heard his partner padding down the hallway to the front foyer. The sound of the alarms being disabled reached his ears a moment before the door opened. "What took you so long?" he growled good-naturedly, "I am hungry."

"Hey," Napoleon answered, "Come in; I'll make coffee." He was still in his robe and Illya could see that he only wore pajama bottoms underneath. "I've been awake, but I was lying down."

Illya sat at the kitchen island and unpacked his bag while Napoleon put on the coffee pot. He got a knife and spread cream cheese on a bagel and reached for the lox. "Somehow, I expected you to be a bit more cheerful this morning. Did you not have a good time last night?"

"Kelly was fun. We ate dinner at Twenty – One and then danced at Max's Kansas City until after midnight. Then we went back to her place and…"

"Had fun," the blond filled in, "So why do you seem a little off this morning?"

Napoleon poured them both cups of coffee and handed one to Illya. "She and I were talking, ahhh, _after_, and she said something that got me to thinking."

"With your _big _head?" At the look on his partner's face, Illya said quickly, "I apologize for my flippancy." He leaned closer and put his hand on Napoleon's right shoulder. "What is wrong?"

"Kelly is a modern woman, or claims to be. Totally into enjoying sex on her own terms. She told me that, unlike some of the women in the secretarial pool, she doesn't expect anything from the Section II men she dates because we're all incapable of love. She's convinced that Cutter drills it out of us until we have no idea how to do it anymore. She dates us exclusively because she's not looking for commitment. I started thinking: What if she's right? I flit from one woman to the next as a matter of course. Mr. Waverly once asked me is there a woman in Manhattan I _haven't_ mounted. One of the few women I've seen more than three times is Angelique and there is certainly no love there. So, what do you think, Illya? Am I, are _we _so trained, damaged, fill in the blank, that we are now incapable of love?"

The Russian slurped down more of his coffee and took the last two bites of his bagel. "_Nyet, moy droog. _You love _me. _You fought to love me when I wanted nothing to do with you on a personal level. You never stopped and because you did not, I learned over time to love _you. _If we can love each other, knowing who we are and what we do, we are capable of loving someone else. When I dare to allow myself to think of a future, I think I _will _find a woman to love. That is because of _you, _Napoleon. Kelly be damned." He reached for a croissant and bit into it. "Of course, everything I just said to you I will deny saying, even under threat of death, so I hope you heard it the first time."

Napoleon laughed for the first time that morning. "Thanks, Tovarisch, you're a good friend."

"Of course I am. Who else would put up with you?"


	9. A Bright Truth - Brightness

The brightness of the light bulb on the table hurt his eyes. He was being forced to look at it whenever he tried to avert his gaze. He didn't know how long it had been going on; only that it had to be hours. His eyes were tearing in protest and still he was forced to look at the light.

"Mr. Kuryakin, tell us what we need to know and this will all end peacefully for you," his interrogator's voice assured him. "What is Operation Handclap?"

"I know what a handclap is, but there is no operation attached to it," Illya said as he tried again, unsuccessfully, to not look at the light.

"Be reasonable, Mr. Kuryakin, your eyesight will be permanently damaged very shortly if you continue to refuse to cooperate. Do you think that ridiculous partner of yours will act as your Seeing Eye dog when you're blind as a bat?"

"I do not know, why do you not ask _him?_"

"Because he is not here, _dumkoff!"_

"Think again, dirtbag!" Napoleon said as he stepped out of the shadows. He squeezed the trigger of his Walther and a sleep dart caught the bad guy in the neck, dropping him at once.

"What took you so long?" Illya complained even as he was untied. "I was starting to fear losing my sight."

"You're fine," Napoleon reassured as he removed the last of the bindings and led the Russian out of his captivity. "Oh and just so you know, the answer is yes."

"What was the question?"

"Would I be your Seeing Eye dog if you were blind as a bat. Yes."

"You are such a blockhead."

"You're welcome."


	10. The Principle of the Thing - Principle

Napoleon had set his sights on one of the new secretaries, so he was delighted when he entered the cafeteria to see her, for once, eating lunch alone instead of with the usual gaggle of women she always seemed to have around her.

"Monique, hello! Mind if I join you?" he inquired pleasantly as he approached holding a tray containing his lunch. At her smile and nod, he placed the tray on the table and took a seat. "How's your day going?"

"Fine," she replied as she tucked into her pot roast. She was Marilyn Monroe curvy, not like some of the other women who looked upon the model Twiggy as some sort of goddess to be worshipped and emulated. "Yours?"

"Great! Just great. In fact, I'm feeling so good that I want to share it with someone. Might you be available for dinner tonight?"

"Oh, I am sorry, Napoleon, but I don't mix business with pleasure on principle. I think it's easier that way. Dating on the job can cause…_problems._ I hope I haven't hurt your feelings or offended you. You're a very nice man! And handsome to boot, but I…can't"

"Monique, I'm a Section II; if your rejection is the only pain I feel today, I will be so grateful." He laughed and put his palm on his chest. "Seriously, it's not a problem. I respect you for holding to your principles. Let's talk about something else. What do you think of Lisa Rogers' new training protocols?"

The CEA and the secretary ate and enjoyed their lunch conversation, much to the curiosity and, in some instances, jealousy of the other women. They walked out and rode the elevator together until she got off on her floor, leaving him to ride alone to his.

He entered his office to find his partner furiously typing his share of the mission report. "Did you have a nice lunch, Napoleon? Unfortunately for you, I am still working on my half of the report, so you can just have the secretarial pool do yours for you."

"Fine. I actually had lunch with the newest member of the pool, Monique Jordan. A _very _pleasant young lady."

"I see. So, I assume you have made a date with her?"

Napoleon sat at his desk. "I tried, but she turned me down. Said she doesn't mix business with pleasure on principle."

The Russian smiled enigmatically and replied, "She sounds like she has a good head on her shoulders."

"Yeah, I just hope her way of thinking doesn't spread. My dating pool will be ruined."

"My heart breaks for you."


	11. There's Always Time for Guilt - Message

"Aunt Amy, I got your message. I came as soon as I could. Is everything alright?"

"Oh, Napoleon, you look frantic! Come in, come in. Everything is fine, dear. I'm sorry if I frightened you." The older woman led the way into her sitting room. "Would you like some tea?"

He checked his watch. "No, thank you. I'm a little pressed for time, but when my doorman said you had stopped by, I thought I better stop here before I head to the airport."

At the mention of the airport, Aunt Amy's face fell. "You're heading out of town again."

"Ah, yes, I am. Was there something you wanted me to do?"

"Nothing that can't wait. How long do you think you'll be gone?"

"I'm not too sure. Hopefully, I'll be back in a week." He stood up and put his coat on. "I really do have to run. I'll call you as soon as I get back to town. Promise." He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I love you, Aunt Amy. I'll see myself out." And with that, he took his leave.

As she poured herself a cup of tea she thought, _I love you, too. And, I miss you._

An hour later found Napoleon and his partner settled into their seats way in the back of coach. They were on their way to Los Angeles to oversee operations out of that office for a few days per Mr. Waverly's wishes. "You seem distracted," Illya remarked, "Did you forget something?"

"No, not really. I stopped by Aunt Amy's before coming to JFK because she had stopped by my building earlier when I wasn't home. I got the feeling she wanted to spend time with me. I've been very busy lately; we both have. And, I'm ashamed to admit, when I did have time I was socializing with my lady friends. I feel guilty about ignoring her. She's not getting any younger and just because her health has been good is no guarantee that it's going to _stay _good."

"Do not worry, Napoleon. When we return to New York, make a date to spend the day with her. If you want, I will meet you. You know I am quite fond of her, too." The Russian reached for his magazine and began to read.

Napoleon decided to take a nap. As he drifted off he thought, _That's a good idea. And if I get a chance, I'll buy her a gift in California._


	12. Spying - Spy

"Illya, may I ask you something?"

"You may ask me anything, April. I may not answer, but you may certainly ask." The two friends and lovers were lying in Illya's bed, sheets tangled around them where they had kicked them. The fan sitting on his dresser was blowing air onto their cooling bodies and they were sharing the glass of water April had brought from his bathroom when she went to get a washcloth.

She laughed and patted his chest. "Fair enough. When you're at my place, Darling, have you ever…looked in my medicine cabinet?"

Illya looked at her quizzically. "Why would I look in your medicine cabinet?"

"To see what's in there, of course."

"Why would I want to see what is in your medicine cabinet?"

April blew a wisp of her hair out of her face. "Because you are a _spy, _Darling, and you can find out a lot about a person by seeing what is kept in the medicine cabinet."

"Ohhhhhh," Illya replied as he leaned back against the headboard, "I did not realize, however, to answer your question: No, I have never looked in your medicine cabinet." He placed his hand under her chin and raised her face so he could look into her eyes. "Have you looked in mine? And, if so, what did you learn?"

"I confess: I did look in yours. Just now. I'm sorry, Darling, I couldn't help it. And I have to admit, yours is the emptiest one I've ever encountered. Aspirin and Band – aids?"

"When I was with the GRU, I only had the Band – aids."

"You would see much more than that in mine."

"Thank you."

April's brow furrowed in confusion. "For what, Darling?"

The Russian put his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug. "_Everyone _seems to have much more of _everything _than I do, but you never make me feel like I am cheap or tasteless or that my home is uncomfortable."

"Who does that to you, Darling?"

He shrugged. "Napoleon used to, but he is accustomed to me now and when he wants to spend time with me, he just orders me to his penthouse!" He smiled at his own joke and said, "When I told him you and I were seeing each other, he remarked that I should always go to your place because mine is very 'woman unfriendly' and you would hate it. But you have never made me feel that way."

"Because I don't hate it. I admit, it is Spartan, but I like you for _you_, not your apartment."

He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "That is good to know. Just for that, I promise I will put something else in my medicine cabinet for you to see the next time you are here."

"I knew I liked you for some reason."


	13. Receding Daylight - Daylight

Napoleon and Illya woke up at six AM in their motel room in West Virginia. They were to meet their contact in three hours at Cunningham Motors, four miles down Ivydale Road. Napoleon looked at his watch to confirm the time and sighed heavily. He could hear his partner turn in his bed and was sure that Illya was probably staring at his back.

"What is wrong, Napoleon? Did you not sleep well?"

"Slept fine. It's just…it's _dark._"

A snort came from behind his back and suddenly light filled the room. "There. Is that not better? You do not have to be afraid anymore."

Napoleon rolled over and sat up to glare at the man occupying the twin bed next to his. "You know full well I'm not afraid of the dark! I just meant that it just seems like last week there was daylight at five AM and now the sun isn't rising until six – thirty. It's depressing."

"It does seem like time is moving more quickly every year. Except when I am hungry; then time drags along until I have something to eat. Like now."

As the Russian hoped, Napoleon laughed. "Is that a hint?"

Illya stood and headed for the bathroom. "No; it is a fact. The restaurant downstairs opens at seven. I want to be there when the doors open. And, if it makes you feel any better, there will be plenty of daylight by then." He slammed the door just as the pillow hit it.


	14. TV or not TV - Television

"You know what, Kuryakin? You need to climb down off that high horse of yours and admit you've been seduced by my decadent Western ways!" Napoleon declared as he gazed down at the prone figure stretched out on his living room floor with a bowl of popcorn at his side.

The Russian twisted around to look at his partner who was stretched out comfortably on his couch. The two men were relaxing in Napoleon's penthouse after eating the sumptuous meal Napoleon had catered for his date. When she had called to cancel, citing unexpected mandatory overtime, he had sounded sufficiently disappointed and told her that he would arrange another date with her in the near future. He hung up and immediately called Illya who was more than happy to come by to eat. "I admit that I was pleasantly surprised to receive your call. I am not used to you being available to me on Saturday nights when we are not working. Other than that, I am not aware of any horses, high or otherwise, that have attempted to seduce me. What an odd thing to say."

Napoleon huffed in exasperation, "It's a saying! It means…Nevermind. What I'm talking about is your refusal to buy a television of your own while, at the same time, coming over here and taking over _mine_."

Grabbing a handful of popcorn, Illya nibbled a bit as he turned back to face the TV. "That is ridiculous."

"Oh? Then please explain why we are watching 'Doctor Zhivago' on NBC's Saturday Night Movie instead of 'Petticoat Junction' and 'Mannix' which is what _I _wanted to watch?"

"You were not planning on watching _any_ television tonight."

"Be that as it may, next week you and I are paying a visit to Korvettes on 14th Street and _you, _moy droog, are buying a television."

"And why would I do that?"

"So that I can come to your place, eat your food and take over your TV."

"Hmmph," Illya grunted, "We'll see about that. Be quiet; the commercial break is over."

Napoleon almost threw a pillow, but decided at the last moment that he didn't wish to have to clean up the mess their wrestling would cause. Instead, he toed off his shoes and put his feet on the top of the couch. He had seen the movie before, but knew that his partner had not so he didn't put up a fuss when Illya said he wanted to watch it; he figured even a Hollywood style Russia provided some comfort for a homesick Russian.

When the next commercials began to roll Illya mused, "I would have thought you would have pulled out your Little Black Book and lined up another date instead of calling me."

"I did actually; I have a brunch date tomorrow with Annette."

"I thought your date tonight was with Susan."

"It was, but I've decided to brunch with Annette. We're, ah, _very _compatible. She's a free spirit like me. But that's tomorrow. Tonight, I'm watching TV with you. And next weekend, I'll be watching football at your house."

Illya rolled his eyes. "Wonderful."


	15. Heading Out - Plane

"C'mon, Luv, we're going to miss our plane! Waverly will have both our 'ides, what are you _doing?_"

"Calm down, Mark! I'm just making sure these new concussion bombs the lab built for me are secured. Wouldn't do to have my purse blow up. There, all ready. Let's go."

The two agents hustled down the hall from their office to Reception. After handing in their badges, they bounded through Del Floria's giving a quick smile and wave to the senior agent as they made their way up the stairs and into a waiting UNCLE cab. "LaGuardia, Richards. Our plane leaves in ninety minutes."

The Section III agent behind the wheel pulled into traffic. "I'll have you there in no time at all, Sir."

April smiled at him in the rearview mirror. "Thank you."

Mark shifted around to get comfortable. "So, what's this," he said, "about concussion bombs?"

April reached into her pocketbook and pulled out two compacts. "If I push this button here, it will detonate in fifteen seconds. Clever, isn't it?"

The Brit nodded approvingly. "R and D certainly earned their keep with this thing. Hopefully, we won't be needing it during this affair."

"That's my hope, too, Darling."


	16. Pencils - Pencil

Napoleon had had just about enough of Illya opening and closing his desk drawers and flipping through papers. "Would you _stop _it? What are you _looking _for?" he snapped as he glared across their desks.

The Russian sat back and blew out air that puffed his bangs out from his face. "I could have sworn I had at least two pencils in my middle drawer and now I cannot find one!" he huffed in exasperation. "I need to write a memo to the lab techs and I prefer to write a draft before I type it."

"I have an idea: Why don't you have one of the ladies from the secretarial pool come in and take dictation? They do that, you know. Wendy was here earlier taking dictation from me."

"I do know, Napoleon. I find it strange to have someone writing down everything I say as I say it." He looked in his drawer again and then stopped when a thought occurred to him. "You said Wendy was here taking dictation? You did not happen to give her one of my pencils, did you?"

The CEA blushed slightly. "Actually, now that you mention it, Wendy's pencil point broke while she was here and I didn't think it was a big deal if I gave her one of yours."

Illya folded his arms and glared. "I see. That accounts for one, what about the other?"

"Welllll. I _might _have taken it with me to the Section Head meeting this morning."

"And, of course, you left it in the meeting room." When Napoleon nodded _yes, _he sighed and pulled a Bic out to write. "What am I going to do with you? You are incorrigible. How would you like it if I started taking things from your desk?"

"I wouldn't care."

"Only because you do not keep anything of value. Make it up to me: Roast beef heroes are the Commissary special; buy me one."

"Sure."


	17. In Title Only - Superior

CEA Chang Yee of UNCLE Asia sat in the office Napoleon Solo shared with his partner, Illya Kuryakin. The other CEAs had flown back to their respective offices the morning after the annual CEA meeting, but Chang had opted to stay an extra day to visit relatives. His flight was leaving at 11PM, so he had decided to do some work in the New York Headquarters until it was time to head to the airport.

"I must say, Napoleon, I was surprised to find you still at work. I was just going to sit in Communications while I spoke with Hong Kong."

"Well, doesn't make sense to sit in a corner like Bob Cratchett when Illya's desk is free and I appreciate the company. Normally I would have left around 6:30, but I sent Illya to babysit a new Section II on a courier mission to the Chicago field office. He's on his way back now, so I decided to wait for him. I'll leave when he gets here; he'll come to my place for dinner and give me his report."

Chang looked askance at his American counterpart. "You're taking your subordinate to your home for debriefing and making him dinner?"

Napoleon's brows rose slightly. "Sure, I mean, he's also my partner. Why wouldn't I have him over?"

"But you are his senior agent by two years, plus you are CEA. You are his _superior_. You do not think it odd to have a subordinate in your home?"

Before he could respond, the pneumatic door slid open to reveal the Russian who strode into the office holding a cup of tea in his hand. "Agent Chang, good to see you again," he said. "I did not expect to see _you_, Napoleon. Were you lonely for me?"

Napoleon snorted, "Hardly. I want to know how Bridges did with his assignment and I figured I'd make dinner and we could discuss it."

Illya crinkled his nose and opined, "I hope you are not making pasta again; you make it well, but I am a little tired of it."

"No, I'm not making pasta again, Mister Food Critic! I took a couple of steaks out of the freezer last night. I hope that meets with your approval."

Illya nodded. "Good. I have to stop by the lab. Meet me by Reception in fifteen minutes." He bowed slightly in Chang's direction. "Take care, Agent Chang. Safe travels." And with that, he exited the room.

Chang looked at Solo and exclaimed, "He is very disrespectful! In Hong Kong, subordinates know their place! How dare he speak to you that way! You should write him up and give him a demerit!"

Napoleon reined his temper in and just stared at Chang for a few seconds. Finally he said, "My partner's _place_ is by my side giving me his best advice and ideas while he has my back in the field. He can't do that if he feels like he must always approach me as his boss. When Mr. Waverly put us together three years ago, it took some time to 'find our groove,' as the kids say. He was used to Harry Beldon's pomp and circumstance; Harry always stood on ceremony. I had to convince him that he could relax and be himself around me because I was going to be myself around him. It took him almost two years to believe that I meant what I said. He's naturally sarcastic and a little prickly; to write him up for speaking his mind after I encouraged him to do so would be counterproductive, don't you agree?"

Chang shrugged his shoulders. "I hope Mr. Lee does not decide to emulate Mr. Waverly and give _me _a partner. I do not think I would like it."

Napoleon stood up and began to put on his jacket. "I admit my feelings were originally the same as yours; I never wanted a partner. Now, I can't imagine not having Illya on missions. Even when we're working the affair from two different angles, I know he's out there taking care of business." He reached for his raincoat and tossed it over his arm. "Now, I have to go. In my case, a hungry partner is a grumpy partner. Use the office as long as you like. Have a safe flight to Hong Kong. G'night."

Del Floria's was closed for the night, so he exited HQ from the secondary entrance. Illya was waiting and put on his coat while Napoleon handed in his badge. "So," he said as he held the door for Napoleon and they walked out into the night air, "How did Chang enjoy being in New York?"

"He liked it just fine. Saw some family members he hadn't seen in years. _You _disturbed him, though."

"Oh? How so?"

"He felt you were not showing me the proper level of respect as befits my position. He knows now that we are equals in the field even though technically, I _am_ your superior."

The blond rolled his eyes. "You keep telling yourself that, my friend." He laughed as he dodged the punch thrown his way. "See?"

Napoleon chased him for a block before he caught up and hit him on the arm.


	18. Normalcy - Fireplace

The fireplace still glowed and he could still feel heat, but the fire he had built that March Sunday afternoon from logs and kindling already stacked in it had burned down to mostly glowing logs that occasionally flared up to throw red and yellow licks of flame around the edges. As the sun descended and the city lights began to come on, it caused what few flames there were to cast shadows against the walls that his mind tried to wrestle into something familiar.

Napoleon was lying on his stomach on his couch, a large neat scotch sat on the floor in reach of his right hand. His bare feet were propped up on one couch arm while his head rested on his left hand as he watched the room darken. He was perfectly content not to move a muscle.

In fact, the most ambitious things he had done all day, besides getting up and dressed to leave the lovely Julie's warm bed at five AM, was shower as soon as he got home and then season his chicken for dinner and make a caprese salad. He ate it at six after a day of dozing, reading and waiting for his meal to cook.

It had been a long time since he had felt the freedom to lie about and do nothing. He and Illya had returned to New York last Friday after almost two weeks' in Iowa dismantling another of THRUSH's harebrained schemes to conquer the world, or in this case, to corner the market on corn so that they could manipulate food and animal feed prices to their advantage.

They had been assisted by the Douglas family; farmers who had hired them on as hands to work the fields so that they could move around the area without attracting too much attention. During that time, they had spent a lot of hours with Tim Douglas and his wife, Ella. Napoleon, who had been certain he would be bored out of his mind during downtime, was impressed by how happy and satisfied the Douglas's seemed to be with their life and each other. _They just seemed so…_normal. _They have none of the things I consider part of The Good Life, no fancy restaurants, Broadway shows, nice clothes and it doesn't matter to them. _

He hadn't shared his thoughts with Illya, he figured the Russian would just roll his eyes and make some snide comment about how he is "romanticizing" country life. When he got back to his place, the first thing he had done was make a date with Julie for Saturday night. Of all his regular dates, she was the closest thing to what he had seen in Ella; she was a wholesome strawberry blonde, originally from Kansas and would probably leave UNCLE one day to marry someone named Ned and have a bunch of kids in the suburbs. He had taken her to Coney Island where they rode the Cyclone and the Parachute Jump, played Skee – ball in the arcade and walked along the boardwalk arm in arm after eating their way around Nathan's starting with clams on the half – shell with beer, then frogs' legs and then ending up with hot dogs and fries. One of the things he liked about Julie was her appetite for food; no skimpy salads for her.

He had first met her in the Commissary and he had been amused to see her eating a large steak and baked potato while the other girls were picking their way through their salads. His first thought had been, _I wonder what her other appetites are like? _He had been pleased to discover that good country girl that she was, she was still a 60s woman with a healthy attitude about sex.

Last night, after he escorted her home, she invited him in for "coffee." Normally, he would have cuddled for a bit and left, but this time, he allowed himself the luxury of sleeping over and waking up with her. It had just felt right. She woke up briefly and he kissed her forehead in appreciation when she offered to get up to make breakfast. "Go back to sleep," he had told her, "Thank you for a wonderful evening."

He stretched until the bones in his back cracked and with a groan, he finally sat up and turned on a lamp. Reaching down, he scooped up his glass from the carpet and drained it. He checked his watch. _Seven – forty. I should clean up my kitchen._

He stood up and began to head down his hallway when his phone began to ring. He kept going and picked up the kitchen phone. "Hello?"

"Napoleon, I thought you were going to call me so we can finish our mission report. What have you been doing all day?"

"Hey Illya. I wasn't doing anything. I decided I wanted to do what normal nine to fivers do on Sunday; relax and try to get ready mentally for Monday."

There was silence for a few seconds before Illya asked, "What else did you do to feel 'normal?'"

"Nothing much. I stayed overnight with my date…"

"Napoleon!"

"Calm down, Mother, my date is an UNCLE employee. And I read the Sunday New York Times and slept and made dinner. See? Nothing too crazy."

"I understand, Napoleon."

"What is it exactly you think you understand?" He could hear his partner sigh through the phone.

"I understand the desire for normalcy. I was with you in Iowa, I saw the life the Douglas's are living. I saw how you observed them. I felt it too, if my family had not been killed in the war, if there had been no war, I would have been a farmer. But the Great Patriot War _did _happen and I am not a farmer and you are not 'normal,' Napoleon. Neither am I; we are spies."

"But don't you want it sometimes?"

"Of course. I am only human. I want to not feel like I must always look over my shoulder. That may happen one day, but not today. What brought this on for you?"

"My fireplace. I watched it for hours. Can I ask you for a favor, Tovarisch?"

"Of course. What is it?"

"Can we keep this between us? I'm always telling the agents not to indulge their 'What if' scenarios and here I am doing it myself."

"I will tell no one, moy droog."


	19. Just Between Us-blueprint, camera, surve

Napoleon entered his office to find his partner pouring over blueprints, ugly horn rim glasses on the edge of his nose and shirtsleeves rolled up to escape the ink. "What are you doing, Illya?"

"Mr. Waverly asked me to look over the plans for the new computer room. Section III is adding surveillance cameras and he wanted a Section II's opinion of the selected locations."

Frowning, Napoleon remarked, "I wonder why he didn't ask _me_? After all, I _am _Number One of Section II."

Illya grinned smugly. "I think the reason you were not asked is because you are probably the _reason _Mr. Waverly wants cameras in the first place."

"You don't say."

"On the contrary; I _do. _I have it on good authority that Number One is completely disinterested in the new Computer Room becoming your new destination for office rendezvous a la the Map Room. It will be monitored continuously by Section III so that anyone using it for…_assignations _will be caught and punished."

"And you're telling me because…?"

"I am your partner and I will not have you embarrassed in front of the entire New York office."

"Thanks, Pal."

"Do not thank me. Buy me dinner."

"Done."


	20. A Hotel Room Conversation - Hate

The mission was over and they were scheduled to fly commercial back to New York tomorrow evening. Tonight, they were holed up in a hotel in downtown Tulsa, Oklahoma that wasn't the worst they had ever been in, but it wasn't the best, either. For once, neither one was interested in going anywhere; Napoleon hadn't met anyone of interest during the affair and was content to chit-chat with his partner over room service and honor bar.

He was stretched out on his bed in his skivvies after having eaten a couple of sandwiches and a salad. "Illya, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" He and the Russian had been partnered now about twenty months and he felt they were friendly and on the way to a good friendship, but weren't quite there, yet.

"My 'minding' has never stopped you before, why should now be any different?" the blond snarled as he searched the fridge for small bottles of vodka. He pulled one out, opened it and swallowed the contents in one swallow. He looked at his partner as he sat down on his bed and winked to show he wasn't really annoyed.

The snarky remarks used to rub the CEA the wrong way. At first, he thought Illya didn't think much of him and was deliberately holding him at arm's length, but he had since learned that Illya's so – called prickly and unfriendly style was the Russian's way of coping with his feelings of wariness, isolation and loneliness. So Napoleon had decided that the more withdrawn Illya became, the more gregarious and effusive he would become towards him until he had no choice but to become Napoleon's friend. He had basically just worn the smaller man down.

"Do you hate anyone or anything?"

Illya snorted in surprise and amusement. "Really? That is what you wish to know? Not my favorite color?"

"I'm not trying to _date _you! What do I care what your favorite color is? Besides, it's blue." Napoleon pulled some ice and a couple of scotch bottles from the fridge and fixed himself a drink. "So, are you going to tell me?"

Illya toed off his shoes and put his socked feet on his bed. He had answered the door when Room Service brought their dinner so he was still dressed. He looked at Napoleon and looked away again. The American's constant (to him) attempts to be closer to him, both emotionally and physically, used to irk him considerably when they were first partnered. No matter how he tried to maintain formality, Napoleon would just figuratively push all of his obstacles and barriers aside. The first time his partner had rubbed his back affectionately, he had not known what to do, so he did nothing. Napoleon had just smiled and gone about his business. Things progressed from there to where he could expect to be bumped, patted, petted and even stroked at least once a day. He refused to let his partner know he liked it though he had a feeling Napoleon already knew. "Why does it not occur to you that it is not a good idea to know too much about another operative? I wonder sometimes why you feel the need to know me so well."

"Honestly? I don't really know, Illya. I just had a gut feeling after working with you for a few months that we're on the same wavelength. I think that's why our success rate is good and getting better. It's like you're in my head and I'm in yours. I feel…I feel like I can trust you. That's why I told you about Brianna.* I'd never told anyone about her, but I wanted to tell you. I guess…well, it's just nice to feel a connection with someone, even if it is a stubborn Russian. I want to be able to talk to you, ask you anything and know that what I hear is the truth."

Illya laughed as he stood and got undressed and got into his bed. He turned the lamp off between the two beds and flipped over onto his stomach. "I know what you mean. I have told you things I have never told anyone else. At first, I thought: This is a mistake; but you have never thrown anything I have told you back into my face. So, to answer your question; yes, there are some things I hate, but I do not feel like talking about it now because it is upsetting. I will tell you when we get back to New York and there is more vodka. Do you mind?"

"Of course not. This is a conversation, not an inquisition!" He slipped under his covers. "Talk to you in the morning, Tovarisch. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Napoleon."

*ref. my tale "The Moon and Memories."


	21. Escape - Darkness(MFU2015)

"There is darkness inside all of us, though mine is more dangerous than most. Still, we all have it—that part of our soul that is irreparably damaged by the very trials and tribulations of life. We are what we are because of it, or perhaps in spite of it. Some use  
it as a shield to hide behind, others as an excuse to do unconscionable things. But, truly, the darkness is simply a piece of the whole, neither good nor evil unless you make it so. It took a witch, a war, and a voodoo queen to teach me that."  
― Jenna MacLaine, _Bound By Sin_

Illya was covered in blood, but for once, it was not his own nor was it Napoleon's. It belonged to the three THRUSH guards who had made the unfortunate decision to not tie him up because he had been drugged. One of the trio had punched him in the gut, the resultant pain brought him to awareness and trained instincts took over. Snatching a large knife from the sheath on another guard's belt, he moved like a ballet dancer, spinning while he sliced the necks and torsos of his enemies until they lay dead at his feet.

He stumbled out of the room where he had been held and began to make his way down the hallway. He seemed to remember that going that way would lead him to a door that led outside. A movement ahead of him had him throwing the knife and then running as if to catch it. It had caught a guard in the throat and Illya paused long enough to dislodge it and take the rifle he had been carrying.

He met more resistance, but they was no match for him; he was in the "killing zone," he barely registered when he pulled the trigger. He was just moving forward, obliterating everything in his path as he made his way to freedom. He burst out of the door, and began to run to the extraction point.

He ran and ran until he felt as if his heart were about to burst through his ribcage. He collapsed as the last of his adrenaline seemed to leave him. He lay there on the ground, sucking in air until he heard something close by and whipped around to fire.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! It's Napoleon, don't shoot!"

"Cowboy, you are late. You were supposed to be here," he mumbled as his partner took the weapon and began to help him to the car.

"What happened back there? You look like the Red Peril for real."

Illya was slightly ashamed of his own ferocity so all he would say is, "I did what I had to do. Let's get out of here."


	22. Setting a Boundary - Rule

The couple were lying in the afterglow of their lovemaking, the woman with her head on his chest, listening to his slowing heartbeat and wallowing in that wonderfully muzzy feeling when one's body has been satisfied and sated almost beyond belief. She slowly became aware that his arms were around her holding her gently. She knew his eyes were closed, but he was not falling asleep. He never fell asleep.

"Napoleon? Baby?"

"Hmmm?" His arms tightened briefly and then relaxed. "Yes, my sweet?"

"I already know the answer, but I'll ask anyway: Would you like to stay? You know you're welcome."

He bent his head and nuzzled her hair. "I do and I appreciate it so much, but I have a rule: When I'm not on a mission, I wake up in my own bed every morning."

"Napoleon, I know that's not true."

He shifted so he could look at her face. "What do you mean?"

"Everyone knows that if you're injured, you'll stay at your partner's place."

"When I'm there, I consider that my bed. All Section IIs feel that way about their partner's home."

"So I've heard. Can't blame a girl for asking, though."

"Not at all, Darling."


	23. I'd Do Anything - Double Agent

"Why do people do it, Napoleon? Tom Higgins was a respected UNCLE scientist for years. His work was responsible for the improvement of Section II's performance. Yet, he threw it all away to go in with the UN Russian Ambassador Nureyev and become a double agent! I do not understand." The two agents were in their shared office. Illya had returned to New York several days earlier and today was his first day back in the office. The conversation had come about because he was working on his written report of his time in Antarctica and had reached the part where he discovered Higgins' treachery. "If he had lived to be captured, he would have been sent to Tartarus. It was his good luck that he was betrayed by the rogue faction of the KGB."

Napoleon snorted, "I'm sure he didn't feel that way when he was swarmed by KGB looking for UNCLE secrets. You and I, Partner, we fight the Good Fight for the betterment of the world. People like Higgins are fighting for the betterment of themselves. You said Dr. Conroy said Higgins was getting paid? That was his motivation."

"I believe that, but I do not understand why he felt the money was so important. He had no sick relatives, no family to speak of, really. Doctor Conroy was his partner and he was in no danger…"

"Oh, so are you saying that if I were in danger, you would consider betraying UNCLE for me?"

"If I were a praying man, I would pray that I never have to make that decision. But, if faced with it, at least I would know money had nothing to do with it. You know how I feel about you."

Napoleon nodded. "God forgive me, I would do anything for you."

**Author's Note: **This story alludes to "From the Past into the Future or The Cave-in Affair" written by alynwa and spikesgirl58


	24. The Rest of the Story - Letter

Napoleon knocked on Illya's door just after six PM. He had stopped on his way over to pick up Chinese and a couple of beers. "Use your key, Napoleon!" he heard his partner call out, so after juggling his bags, he was finally able to grab his keys and unlock the door.

"Hey!" he scolded as he dropped the bags none too gently on the floor and started resetting the alarms, "You knew I had my hands full. Why didn't you get the door?" He walked into the kitchen with the bags to see the Russian sitting at his table reading something. He opened his mouth to complain some more when he noticed that behind the tinted lenses of Illya's horn rimmed glasses his eyes were filled with tears. "What's wrong? Has something happened?" For the life of him, he couldn't imagine what could be on that paper that would bring his stoic Russian partner to tears.

Illya removed his glasses with the hand holding what Napoleon could now see was a handwritten letter and placed both on the table. The tears spilled over his eyes and he moved quickly to wipe them. "I thought I would never see this again. I, I am sorry, Napoleon, that I did not unlock the door."

"Forget about that, Illya," Napoleon said as he pulled out a chair and sat down. He reached over and grasped the smaller man's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Illya swiped his eyes again. "Do you remember when I told you about Anya?"*

"Yes. She was the woman you wanted to marry, the one the KGB 'disappeared.'"

"Da. I told you that after I returned to my ship, I never heard from her again. That was not entirely accurate. We had mail call about three days later. The Soviet Navy was not known for getting mail to the ships and submarines in a timely fashion. Letters and packages that had been mailed months earlier would come after the recipients had given up hope. During that mail call, I received a letter from Anya." He motioned to the papers on the table. "That is it. I used to read her letters and then rip them into tiny pieces so no one else could read them. But when I received this, after what had happened, I could not bring myself to destroy it. I thought it had been lost during one of my moves, either to London or New York. I found it stuck in between some albums I had not played in years and kept in a milk crate. You may read it, if you like."

"I would love to, but Cyrillic and I don't really get along."

Illya put his glasses back on and without ceremony, began to read. "My dearest Illyusha, it is just after seven – thirty in the morning and I have moved to your side of the bed. It was still warm from your body and your scent still lingered on the pillow. I cannot describe in a way you would truly understand how you make me feel when you tell me you love me. I want to sing and dance and let the world know that you love me, but instead, I say that I love you, too. Somehow, it does not seem like enough; there should be a word that is stronger, that means more than love that I can use to name how I feel about you. Last night, after we made love, talking about our future, I felt so happy that I was afraid that I might burst. I was thrilled when you said you wanted us to have a little girl. Men always seem to want sons to carry on their name. But when you said you want a daughter named Fekla after your sister**…Ah, that was when I wished I knew a word that multiplies the meaning of the word love." Illya's lower lip trembled, he took a deep breath and continued.

"Illyusha, the next time you come to Vladivostok, let us talk about where we will live after you finish your naval service. I have heard wonderful things about Moscow. Perhaps, we could move there? Until I see you again, I remain your loving Anya." He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Napoleon sat quietly watching his partner. Everything that came to mind to say just seemed too uncaring and trivial. The fact that Illya voluntarily shared "the rest of the story" as Paul Harvey*** would put it, moved him greatly and let him know how strong their bond is. He stood up and began putting the food and beer in the fridge as his partner turned to stare. "This stuff doesn't suit the mood, Tovarisch. We need vodka and scotch and comfort food."

A slight smile played across the Slavic face. "And, what are you proposing for comfort food?"

"Well, I'm thinking we'll head to my place and stop at the Tick Tock Diner on Eighth and get meatloaf, mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, macaroni and cheese and an apple pie. I've got vanilla ice cream in my freezer along with two bottles of Stoli for you."

Illya's smile widened a bit. "It is not Russian, but it will do. Thank you, Napoleon."

"You're welcome and you're spending the night. I intend for us to get drunk."

By nine – thirty, both men were full and slightly tipsy. Rather than turning on the television, Napoleon had put some records on his hi – fi for some background music. As Danny Thomas' voice came out of the speakers softly crooning "You Make Me Feel so Young," Illya raised his head from where he was resting it on the back of the couch and said, "Thank you, my friend, for caring about my feelings. I am still not used to sharing my personal life, but you make it easy. I trust you with my secrets."

"As I trust you with mine, Illya. I'm glad you had that love and I'm glad you found your letter."

Illya raised his glass. "And I am glad you are my friend. Z_a ná-shoo dróo-zhboo! _(To our friendship!)"

*ref. my tale "Lost Love"

**ref. my tale "The Letter"

***Paul Harvey was a US syndicated radio personality from the 1940s through the 1990s. One of his shows was "The Rest of the Story" which informed his audience about little known facts about a well-known event or personality.


	25. Sunshine of Their Love - Sunset

Alexander and Elizabeth Waverly were sitting on the porch of their Connecticut estate in the late afternoon of the last Saturday in August. As was their habit, they sat gently rocking on their wooden, cushioned porch swing holding hands as they watched the sunset.

"It's so beautiful," she whispered as she watched the sky glow red, "I wish we could always do this."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "As do I, dear girl. Throughout the years, there were far too many sunsets that we missed seeing together. I used to think there would be time to make up for those, but as I move closer to the sunset of my life, I realize now: There is never enough time."

"Alexander, please don't be morbid." She turned toward him and placed her free hand on top of their joined ones.

"I don't mean to be. I'm simply saying in my own clumsy way that I wish we had had more sunsets and sunrises and laughter, love and joy. If God be merciful, He will take me first and I pray that we've shared enough love to sustain us until we are together again."

Her eyes softened as she looked at the man she had loved since she was eighteen years old. "We are together now, Beloved Husband, and I am grateful to have had this sunset with you. I love you, Alexander."

He let go her hands long enough to stand. Reaching down, he said, "Come, my dear; before we scandalize my perimeter security detail, let's go upstairs so that I can show you my love." He smiled as his wife began to giggle like a young woman on her first date.

"'My love?' Since when did you start calling it _that?_"

The two Section IIIs guarding the front gate were startled to hear their boss guffaw out loud and turned just in time to see him swat the backside of Mrs. Waverly before they both disappeared into the house. "Oh, wow! Did you see that?" the junior agent exclaimed.

"No, and if you know what's good for you, neither did you."


	26. Alaska Rescue-radio, helicopter, dinner

"Kuryakin to Base, Kuryakin to Base. Base, can you read me? Over." Illya spoke clearly and calmly into the helicopter's radio as he expertly performed evasive maneuvers to avoid the small arms fire and occasional bazooka rockets aimed his way. "I have retrieved the blueprints for the American missile silos that THRUSH had stolen. I am currently forty – five miles southeast of Ketchikan and taking fire from some birds still in pursuit. If you can hear me, I am attempting to rendezvous with Napoleon in Skagway. My ETA is one hour and twenty minutes." Just then, he was strafed with machine gun fire and felt the craft jerk for a second before noticing that the oil gauge was showing a rapid decrease.

"Kuryakin to Base, Kuryakin to Base. My chopper has been hit! I can still fly for the time being, but I will be going down soon. Advise Solo to intercept! Advise…" He lost control of the machine and began to spiral down towards the trees. "I am crashing! Tell Solo to scramble!" If he said anything else, it was drowned out by the sound of the machine hitting the trees.

Napoleon was scanning the horizon using high – powered binoculars, searching for any sign of the downed helicopter. He was in a chopper of his own piloted by a Section II, Burton, out of the Juneau office. There were only two IIs assigned permanently to the Alaska office; though the state was huge, the population wasn't so usually, two agents were enough. He and Illya were brought in when it was discovered that THRUSH was moving American military secrets through Alaska into Canada where they were being auctioned off to the highest bidder.

"There is one bright spot in all of this, CEA Solo," Burton Saks opined as he skimmed low along the trees.

"And that would be…?"

"THRUSH was chasing Mr. Kuryakin in cars. Past a certain point, there are no roads. I'm sure they're aware his chopper was hit and crashed, but he was going away from them. They would have to go back to their satrap to either get horses or their own helicopter. We scrambled as soon as we got the message."

"So, we're here first." Napoleon looked behind him at Agent Anik, the only UNCLE agent of Inuit descent. "I need you and Burton to keep a lookout for anything headed this way; when we find Illya, I'll rappel down to get him. Hopefully, his injuries, if he has any, won't cause him to need a stretcher."

Burton tapped his shoulder sharply. "Look over there! I saw light reflecting off something metallic! I'll swing back around."

Napoleon trained the binoculars in the direction Burton indicated and saw what appeared to be wreckage. "I'm going down; take me over there," he ordered. When the chopper was directly over the spot, he unbuckled his seat belt and got into the harness that connected him to the rappel line and was quickly lowered to the ground. Unharnessing himself, he moved toward what was definitely the remains of Illya's chopper. "Illya! Can you hear me?" He moved closer. "Illya!"

"Oh, for goodness sakes, Napoleon, will you stop shouting! I am right here."

Napoleon looked toward the sound of his partner's voice and saw him lying against a tree with a water bottle, a tube and his gun by his side. "Are the plans in that tube? How are you?"

"I am fine and yes, these are the blueprints. I may have a concussion, so I have been keeping myself awake. Since I find myself to be quite fascinating, that was easy, but now that _you _are here, I might be bored into unconsciousness, so maybe we need to get out of here."

"Do you think you have any broken bones?" When the Russian shook his head, Napoleon pulled his communicator from his jacket pocket and instructed Burton to swing back around in order to get them.

"Got a little problem with that, Boss; a chopper is coming our way and I think we're about to take fire. Take cover and let us handle this."

They could both hear the sound of an approaching helicopter and then, gunfire coming from two different directions. There was nothing they could do, so Napoleon moved closer to his partner and prepared to defend themselves. Suddenly, there was the sound of an explosion and then, thuds as pieces of a chopper began raining down a short distance away from their position.

"CEA Solo? CEA Solo! Are you alright?"

Napoleon assembled his communicator and said, "Burton, I am so thrilled to hear your voice, you can call me Napoleon. My partner doesn't need a stretcher; just send down the one harness. We'll both come up at the same time."

When the harness dropped, Napoleon secured Illya to it first and then himself. They placed the tube containing the blueprints between them and Napoleon signaled for them to be lifted. As they were raised, Illya looked around and remarked, "There is a cost for being this close to me. You owe me dinner."

Napoleon snorted. "I had to scramble to come save you so _this _time, you owe _me _dinner."

Illya rolled his eyes. "Fine."


	27. Monique and the Ladies-coworker

When Monique Jordan walked into the Ladies' room, the three women standing by the hand dryer stopped talking and glared at her, much to her confusion. Nature trumped curiosity and she hurried into a stall to relieve herself. After flushing, she stepped to the sink to wash her hands. She approached the women. "Excuse me." Silently, they moved aside and when she had dried her hands, Monique asked, "Is something wrong?" She looked at one in particular. "Toni?"

"Alright, yes, Monique. We're a little miffed with you. You've eaten lunch with Napoleon Solo three times this week and twice last week!"

"So?"

"So, he doesn't eat lunch with secretaries!"

"Well obviously, that's not true since, like you said, he and I have had lunch several times. He said his partner is on a tear about his experiments in the lab and hasn't wanted to leave them, so he's been going to lunch in the Commissary alone. If he sees me, he sits with me. So what?"

"'_So what?_'" Millie exclaimed, "We're jealous, that's so what! We're all dying to date him again and can't get much more than a smile and a compliment! What's your secret?"

Monique laughed, "My 'secret' is not _wanting_ to date him! I don't believe in dating a coworker. Yes, he's a handsome man, but I just like him as a person."*

"You're a pretty woman," Toni said, "Are you telling us he's never hit on you?"

"Oh, he did, but when I told him that I don't mix business with pleasure, he respected that and we've been friendly ever since. We just talk about stuff like movies and books and what's on TV."

"So you don't know what he thinks about any of us," Sandra, the third woman, stated.

"I don't ask him about his dating life. Listen, I have to get back to work and just so you know, Miss Rogers is meeting me at my desk in ten minutes so…"

Toni nodded. "Thanks for the heads up. We'll be right there." She watched Monique leave and then said to her companions, "We need to figure out a way to get her to help us get back on Napoleon's radar. Let's talk about this some more, later."

*ref. to The Second Hundred "The Principle of the Thing"


	28. One Dark Night - Light

Illya and Napoleon were just about to retire to their respective bedrooms when the apartment was plunged into blackness. Almost immediately, Leona Nicole started crying, "Daddy! Papa! My light went out! I'm scared!"

"Do not be afraid, Leona, I will be right there!" The Russian's eyes adjusted quickly and he made his way to her room. He picked the three year old up and cradled her in his arms. "See? I am here." He brought her into the hallway just as Napoleon turned on his flashlight. "Is this just us or another large blackout?"

"As near as I can tell, our block is the only one that's lost power."

"Daddy, why is it dark?"

"I'm not sure, Sweetheart, but I'm going to find out." He pulled his communicator from his pants pocket. "Open Channel F, please. Section IV."

Seconds later, a female voice came through the device. "This is Miss Bonner, Agent Solo. How can I help?"

"Make some inquiries, please, and find out if Con Ed is aware of a power failure on my block and the cause of it."

Fifteen minutes later, his communicator chirped. "Good news, Agent Solo. There is no THRUSH involvement or some other devious plot. A transformer overheated and blew. They expect to have the problem resolved before dawn."

"Thank you for being so efficient, Miss Bonner. And please, call me Napoleon."

"I'd rather not. I'm an engaged woman, Agent Solo. Good night." A distinct _click _let him know she had ended the call.

A snort came from his left where Illya was sitting beside him on the couch with their daughter on his lap. Until they knew better, they thought it best to stand ready for any trouble that might arise. "Finally, a woman who is immune to your charms. We might as well go to bed."

"Daddy, Papa, I'm scared. It's too dark in my room. I don't wanna sleep in there."

"I have an idea, Leona. How about you, Papa and I all sleep in my room? The dark won't scare you if you're with us, will it?"

"No, I like sleeping with you and Papa! I feel like you're taking care of me. I like that."

"We do, too. Come. Let us go to Daddy's room."

Napoleon led the way with the flashlight and Illya placed Leona in the middle of the bed. They took turns going into the bathroom to put on their pajamas. Illya took Leona to the bathroom and praised her when she used it.

The two men laid on either side of their little girl and Napoleon cut off the flashlight. "You don't have to worry, My Sweet. Papa and I are here. Go to sleep and we'll see you in the morning, okay?" he said right before he kissed her temple.

"'K. 'Night, Daddy." She leaned toward Papa who bent down to kiss her head. "'Night, Papa."

"Good night, Daughter."

The men stayed awake and listened as their child drifted off to sleep. When they were sure she was in dreamland, Illya mused, "We have not done this for awhile. She is almost four. She is starting to not look like a baby anymore. That makes me…sad."

"I know what you mean, Partner Mine. She's growing so fast. Tell you what: Next time we're home, let's 'camp out' in the living room with her. We can even build a small fire to toast marshmallows."

"Good idea, Napoleon." He yawned as quietly as he could. "I think I will join her now. Goodnight."

"Now _that's _a good idea. See you in the morning."


End file.
